


Intersected

by Heroine (Evoxine)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Loneliness, M/M, Season 5 Divergence, mike is a college professor, yes there is frickle frackle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Heroine
Summary: In this universe, Mike turns himself in without Harvey's knowledge.When he gets out of prison, he enters a world where everyone from the firm is unreachable, as per Jessica's requests.That is, until Harvey reaches out first.





	Intersected

As soon as the second hand finishes its last round of the hour, the alarm begins to scream – thin, metal legs rattling on the surface of the bedside table. Groaning, Mike fights the urge to bury deeper within his sheets and rolls over to shut the alarm up with a well aimed smack.

He hates 8 A.M. lectures with all of his heart and soul. Back when he was still in college, he’d hated attending morning lectures. Now, he hates giving morning lectures. But he’s only been a faculty member at Columbia Law School for a year and a half, and he doesn’t think he’s earned the right to ask for certain time slots yet.

Sighing as he slides out of bed, Mike shuffles across the hardwood floors and steps into his modestly-sized ensuite. His years working for Harvey have padded his bank account comfortably; moreover, with both Grammy and Rachel out of the picture, he doesn’t really have any other outlets to spend on apart from himself.

As his coffee brews, Mike washes up and changes. 20 minutes later, he’s pouring black coffee into a thermos and grabbing his briefcase. Swiping his keys off the thin, marble countertop by his door, he slips on his shoes and leaves his apartment. Just before the door closes, Mike’s gaze lands on his old Pearson Specter Litt employee keycard that he keeps lying out as a reminder. Dropping his gaze, he locks the door behind him.

He still chooses to bike to school – admittedly, his bike is one of _much_ better quality than the one he had during his college years. With the thermos in one hand, Mike navigates the busy streets of New York with ease, thighs slipping into the familiar, pleasant burn as he pedals the 15 minute journey to campus. At least the lecture hall isn’t far from the entrance.

Locking his bike in place in front of Jerome Greene Hall, Mike walks into the building, sipping at his coffee. By the time he enters the lecture hall, approximately half his students are already in their seats. He plugs in his USB, pulls up his lecture slides, and sits back to nurse his thermos of coffee. He’s got 7 minutes before he has to start delivering another lecture on litigation practices, and he plans to savour those minutes.

 

 

 

  
“Ross!”

Mike’s just about to head into his office – well, it’s more of a broom closet, really – when a familiar voice stops him.

“Hey, Director Andrews. Do you need me for something?”

“I know you always forget to check your faculty email, so please do that ASAP.”

“Will do,” Mike says sheepishly. He really is bad at checking his email – once, he’d gotten back to the Director three weeks after his response was expected – “I’ll check it as soon as I get into my office.”

Andrews nods and bustles off, presumably to hound another professor over a small issue.

When he finally makes it to his office, Mike unlocks the door and enters, flicking the light switch. The single lightbulb overhead is sufficient to illuminate his entire office – honestly, his cubicle back at the law firm is probably bigger. But Mike has no reason to complain, nor does he have the right to.

Setting his briefcase down, he boots up his laptop and brings up the email client.

_**Subject: Guest Speaker for all Upperclass Law Students, 25th Oct 2017** _

_This seminar will be held from 11 A.M. to 3:30 P.M., with a 45 minute break. Professors with classes on that day will need to adjust their syllabi in order to accommodate this. Please remind students to sign up for the seminar through the department website – spaces are limited and they are encouraged to attend._

_The guest speaker is still to be determined, but will be from one of the law firms in the city._

_If changes are made to the schedule, a notifying email will be sent out immediately._

_Director Andrews_

25th of October. That’s three weeks from now. His Advanced Corporate Law: Mergers and Acquisitions class has a midterm that day – well, he’ll have to push it back a week. His students should be happy about that.

 

 

 

As per usual, no one comes to his office hours. Mike stays until the last minute regardless, mostly because he has no plans after work, and there won’t be anyone waiting for him when he gets home. There’s absolutely no hurry to leave. Mike briefly wonders if he should get a dog.

At 6 P.M., Mike packs up his things and locks up his office.

Setting his playlist on shuffle, Mike swings a leg over his bike and lets the earphones block out sounds of the outside world. When a Miles Davis track comes on, Mike fights the urge to turn around and speed towards Pearson Specter Litt. Instead, he heads for his apartment, stopping briefly at the deli downstairs for dinner.

Upstairs, Mike drops his keys into the small bowl. The keycard stares up at him, and so does the unopened bottle of Macallan 18 that rests on the other end of the counter. It’s been 2 years, 3 months, and 17 days since Jessica convinced him to quit his job at the firm and turn himself in. He doesn’t regret the decision; after all, it had saved everyone from losing their jobs – and more. He does miss them though. Every single one of them, even Louis.

After he handed in his resignation to Jessica, he’d left the office without saying goodbye to anyone else. Back then, he didn’t want to face Harvey, didn’t want to see the myriad of emotions that would’ve flitted across his face at the news. He didn’t want confirmation that he had disappointed Harvey, despite knowing that what he did was for Harvey’s sake. So he left before Donna could find out about his departure. Now, he wishes he had stopped by Harvey’s office. The man deserved that much.

Jessica had forbidden him to contact anyone in the firm for a minimum of 3 years, just so the shitstorm will have a chance to die down and stay buried. In return, she’d promised that she will represent him as his lawyer, and will do the best she can to either get the charges dropped or to get the lightest possible sentence. She’d done her best, getting him a year with parole. He got out just 6 months into his sentence, attributed to good behaviour. She also promised that she’ll write him great references should he want to get a job in the law industry, saying that her word will be of a greater weight than his prison record.

He’d requested that Harvey not be allowed at his trial. When he was incarcerated, he refused to accept Harvey’s request for visitation. When he stepped out of prison, Jessica made sure Harvey wouldn’t be able to show up. It hurt, it really did, but it was the smarter decision to make.

Not wanting to leave the field that got him a family for the first time in a long time (Grammy is special, of course), he’d chosen to teach law. If he can’t practice it, the next best thing is to teach it. With Jessica’s recommendations, it hadn’t taken him long to secure a job at Columbia Law.

Mike supposes this is all for the best. But it doesn’t make the ache disappear any quicker.

By the time he’s showered and seated on a sofa that’s too big for one person, his sandwich has gotten cold. But he’s used to it by now, so he sinks his teeth into tough bread as a crime drama plays on TV.

 

 

 

  
Over the next few weeks, Mike’s life continues to be filled with coffee, lecturing, and hard sandwiches. A few times a week, whenever he doesn’t have office hours, he spends 90 minutes at the university’s gym, staring out the windows as he runs, listening to a Harvey-inspired playlist as he lifts. On Saturdays, he bikes to Donna’s favourite coffeehouse, arriving right when she has yoga, just so he’s able to bask in the familiar aroma and not risk running into her.

He’s really glad school’s back in session. Last summer was absolutely horrible, without anything to occupy himself with. He had filled up his time by moping around the apartment, staring at Harvey’s name in his phone, staring at the engagement ring Rachel had given back to him, staring at the yoga mat he keeps rolled up in the corner of his living room because it reminds him of Donna.

He’ll take morning lectures over empty days spent at home any day.

 

 

 

  
On the 25th of October, instead of heading into his lecture hall, he walks into the seminar hall instead, taking a seat in the last row, against the wall. His thermos, ever present, sits on the small table in front of him. He can see a briefcase resting against the podium; the speaker must be off getting coffee or something.

He busies himself with his phone as he waits, only looking up when the mic crackles a couple of times. Ah, the speaker’s back and ready to get started. Mike’s gaze first lands on the screen – litigation, torts, and corporate law. Huh. This seminar is on everything he teaches. Then, his gaze lands on the speaker.

It’s a shot of bad luck that he’s seated in the back corner – he can’t make a quick escape. His thermos tumbles off the table when he jolts to his feet, fingers balled into fists, eyes wide as they stare at the man behind the podium. The thermos crashes to the floor and coffee spills everywhere; the poor students seated in front of him scramble to grab their bags and books before shuffling away to safety.

At this point, everyone’s eyes are on him. Including the speaker’s.

“Um, Professor? Are you okay?”

Mike recognises the female voice; it’s one of his students.

“Y-yeah,” he manages to force out.

“Here, Professor. We got some paper towels.” A male this time. Also one of his students.

Someone passes him a wad of paper towels, and it takes all of his willpower for Mike to hunch down between the seats and dab at the spilled coffee instead of bolting it out of the seminar hall. His hands are trembling.

When all the paper towels are soaking up the coffee, Mike straightens and takes a deep breath before looking up. Harvey’s staring right back at him, looking polished and magnetizing as usual in his tailored three-piece suit and carefully styled hair.

With shaky knees, Mike settles back into his seat, angling slightly to the side in order to avoid the brown puddle on the floor. Breaking eye contact, he turns his gaze resolutely back to the screen. Harvey gets the hint: he starts the seminar with a brief introduction about himself. At the sound of Harvey’s voice, Mike suddenly wants to cry.

 

 

 

  
At 1:00 P.M. sharp, Harvey stops the seminar for the scheduled 45 minute break. Mike, momentarily distracted as he searches for a janitor in the hallway, fails to notice Harvey walk right up to him.

“Mike.”

Mike jumps a foot into the air, and his heart leaps even higher, lodging itself in his throat. It’s been so long since he’s heard Harvey’s voice.

“Harvey,” he finally manages to say. “Hello.”

There’s a mixture of anger, confusion, sadness, and pain in those dark eyes. Mike looks away immediately – it hurts to know that he’s the reason behind all those feelings.

“You owe me an explanation.”

A janitor rounds the corner then, and Mike waves her down desperately.

“I can’t. Jessica forbade me to talk to any of you for 3 years. I should’ve left when I found out you were the speaker, but I didn’t. If she finds out –”

“Do I look like I give a rat’s ass about her finding out?”

“You don’t have to,” Mike says. “But I do.”

He turns to the janitor and tells her about the spill. She nods and says she’ll be right back with her supplies. Harvey waits until she’s gone before grabbing Mike and pulling him towards the stairs.

“Where’s your office.”

“Harvey, I can’t –”

“Like fuck you can’t, Mike. _Where is your office?_ ” Harvey demands, rounding on the younger man. Mike notices the clench of his jaw.

And so, a reluctant Mike heads towards his office, Harvey hot on his heels.

 

 

 

  
In two years, Harvey’s managed to look younger and older at the same time. He seems fitter, body stronger, and his skin looks much brighter. But the tiredness in his eyes and the tension that seems to constantly weigh down on his shoulders give away his age.

“Explain,” is the first thing Harvey says when they squeeze into Mike’s tiny office.

“Jessica convinced me to quit,” Mike starts. “It was the only way to save everyone’s jobs and prevent law enforcement involvement.”

“I know all of that. Explain why you did that without consulting me. Explain why you left without telling me. Explain why you thought that going to jail would make everything better.”

Mike sinks down into his chair and stares at the lone pen resting in his pencil holder.

“I did that without consulting you because I knew you wouldn’t let me quit. You would’ve wanted to figure out a way to keep me _and_ your job. But I didn’t want to take that risk. I couldn’t risk you losing your job and everything you’ve worked for.” He sighs. Harvey waits for him to continue, grip tight on the edge of Mike’s desk.

“I left without telling you because –” Mike grits his teeth. “Because I didn’t want to see the disappointment on your face. I didn’t want to witness you realizing that you made a mistake taking me in. The last thing I said to you before I left was a Top Gun quote. I wanted to keep it that way.”

Mike falls silent and continues staring at his pen. Harvey, equally quiet, continues to observe Mike.

“And I turned myself in because that was the most I could do for you, considering everything you’ve done for me. It was the only thing I could do to make sure you were safe, that nothing you worked for would be jeopardised. Just quitting the firm wouldn’t stop a police investigation. They needed someone to pin their case on, and that person should be me.”

He exhales, feeling a sliver of the weight on his shoulders slip off.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all the problems I brought. For everything.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harvey tells him. His tone is indecipherable, and so is his expression when Mike looks up at him. “I hired you knowing the risks, and I kept you knowing the risks. It’s just as much of my problem as it is yours. You did what you thought was best. I can respect that.”

Mike nods slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you some coffee. Since you spilled yours and all.”

 

 

 

  
“Did you know I worked here?”

Harvey’s silence is an answer in and of itself.

“Why’d you come?”

“To give a seminar.”

“You’ve never given a seminar in your life. Why now?”

“Expanding my horizons.”

Mike makes a noise of disbelief, but he doesn’t push.

“Well,” Mike says, stopping next to his bike. “Don’t work too hard. Don’t drink too much. Buy Donna a new pair of shoes. I’ll… I’ll see you some time in the future, Harvey. Thanks for coming to talk to the students today.”

He turns to unlock his bike, but a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“... How have you been, Mike?”

“What?”

“You’ve lost the spark in your eyes. Where’d the mischief in you go?”

Mike’s eyebrows furrow as he looks down at his feet.

“Left it back in your office, I guess.”

Harvey takes a step forward.

“It took me way too long to find out what you did. By the time I got around to demanding an explanation from Jessica, she’d managed to spin a ridiculous cover story for your departure – family from out of state needed your presence, and you had to leave for an undetermined amount of time. She forbade me from contacting you, and she kept details of your trial hidden from me. Even Donna wasn’t able to uncover that information. Do you have any idea how angry I was? How frustrated? I’m equally to blame for this situation, and yet I walked away scot-free, because you decided that your future was worth less than mine.”

“Stop, Harvey. I made a choice, and I don’t regret it. I’m just really fucking glad you and the rest of the firm are safe.”

With that, he turns, unlocks the bike lock, and pedals away.

Harvey watches him go, feeling as though a vice is tightening around his chest.

 

 

 

  
That night, Mike finally opens the bottle of Macallan 18.

He drinks two fingers, half-eaten sandwich lying on his kitchen table. When the backs of his eyes start to prickle, he drains the rest of the whisky from his glass and stands under his showerhead until the water goes cold.

 

 

 

  
When Harvey returns to the office the next day, Donna instantly corners him by her desk.

“How is he?”

“Living.”

She sighs and plucks Harvey’s cup of coffee out of his hand. He doesn’t complain or ask for it back.

“He goes to my favourite coffee shop every weekend, you know? When I go for yoga.” She looks at the cup of coffee in her hands sadly. “The barista tells me.”

Harvey’s jaw tightens.

 

 

 

  
“So, just as a recap from L6118, Introduction to Tort Law, – which you should have taken before signing up for this course –, American law recognizes three main categories of tort liability, corresponding to three broad sources of injury. One, injuries stemming from intentional acts. Two, injuries stemming from negligent acts. And three, injuries stemming from dangerous activities or defective consumer products.”

The door to his lecture hall swings open, and Mike looks up sternly. They’re already halfway through lecture, and Mike has a rule of not letting latecomers (those who arrive past the first fifteen minutes) enter. It’s disruptive to the rest of the class, and students who aren’t responsible should shoulder the consequences.

But the person who enters isn’t a student. It’s Harvey, and Mike’s brain stops functioning for a second.

“Uh –”

His students stare down at him. They can’t see the entrance from where they’re seated, so their confusion is understandable.

“Take a five minute break,” he says hastily, tugging off the mic clipped to his shirt. He waits until there’s enough chatter in the lecture hall before gesturing for Harvey to approach.

“What are you doing here?”

“Donna wants to meet for lunch.”

“I can’t, Harvey. Jessica –”

“Jessica knows. She’s surprised you managed to stay away for over two years.”

Mike blinks.

“What does that mean?”

“That means,” Harvey says, “that Jessica doesn’t care if we have lunch. She’s okay with you as long as you don’t return to the firm. Which, I maintain, is a fucking stupid decision, considering the billables you brought in and the number of cases you’ve helped us win.”

“It’s not stupid, Harvey,” Mike says quietly. “Me working there is a big risk, and you know it. She just wants to keep the firm safe. The risks of my presence outweigh the benefits; it’s just simple logic. What she wants is what I want, too.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue any further.

“Lunch. After your lecture. I’ll be waiting outside.”

“I don’t get a say in this, do I?”

“You’re damn right you don’t. Not this time.”

 

 

 

  
Before Mike can get out a single word, a palm cuts through the air and lands smack against his face. The sting shoots through his nerves immediately, and he can pretty much feel the redness blossom across his cheek.

Donna’s glaring at him, arm still slightly raised, and he says nothing. There are students milling about, and a great number of them are staring, but he remains quiet. Then, her glare fades away, promptly replaced by sadness, and she pulls Mike into a hug, planting a gentle kiss of apology on his flaming skin.

“Hi, Donna.” He squeezes her tightly around the middle.

“Hey, puppy.” A manicured hand strokes his nape, and Mike pushes down the lump that’s forming in his throat.

“Let’s go,” Harvey murmurs. Mike glances over Donna’s shoulder and catches sight a familiar town car.

Ray gives him a small smile when he enters, one that he returns.

“It’s been a while, Mr. Ross.”

“Yeah, Ray. It has.”

 

 

 

  
They get lunch at a nearby restaurant, one that serves sparkling water and charges $20 for a tiny bowl of soup. But Harvey refuses to let Mike order the cheapest thing on the menu, and Donna points out the fact that he probably sustains on takeout, so Mike ends up with a plate of medium-rare steak, with a bunch of greens on the side.

They eat and talk – well, Donna does most of the talking, while Mike does most of the responding. Harvey’s quiet, only contributing to the conversation with monosyllabic words when prompted.

When they’re done with their food, Donna orders a foamy cup of cappuccino. She nibbles on the cookie that comes with it and leans in, a firm look on her face.

“When will we see you next?”

“I – I don’t think we should be meeting often,” Mike answers, choosing to look at her shoulder instead of her face. “It’s not good if we’re seen together.”

“Mike, you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t commit treason. You didn’t plant bombs all over the city. You’re not a bad person, Mike. Why does it matter if we’re seen together?”

Harvey’s still quiet.

“It’s just safer that way, Donna.”

“It’s been over two years, Mike. Almost two since you got out of prison. It’s all over. The problem’s settled.”

He shakes his head adamantly.

“Please.”

Harvey clears his throat.

“Let it go, Donna. If he wants to see us, he knows how to reach us.”

 

 

 

  
November passes in a flurry of lectures, exam write-ups, students flooding into his office for last minute help, and litres and litres of coffee.

Finals start in two weeks, and Mike has three exams to finalise before the submission deadline tomorrow. Well, _technically_ , in less than twelve hours. It’s hard to write a test that’s fair, yet dependent on attendance and understanding of material at the same time. But Mike tries his very best, and when he finally finishes writing up the last one, he flattens the nearest empty Red Bull can in triumph.

Mike scans his surroundings – his kitchen counter (also his work counter) is nearly drowning underneath a sea of styrofoam coffee cups and Red Bull cans. He spies the occasional balled up sandwich wrapper amongst the clutter, and the remnants of a half-smoked blunt lies off to the corner, serving as a reminder that he had a momentary lapse of judgement under all the stress.

Sending off the email containing the final drafts of his tests to the department head, Mike gets up, groans at the creaking of his joints, and picks up his trash can. With a half-assed sweep, he gets most of the garbage into the can. He stares at the pieces that fall. Ah whatever, he’ll pick those up later.

He stumbles into the shower, purposefully suffers through sprays of icy cold water, and slides into bed clad only in boxers. It’s 3 A.M., and he has a lecture in 6 hours. Thankfully, he manages to fall asleep almost instantly.

 

 

 

  
When the last student of his last class walks out of the exam hall, Mike drops his head down onto his desk and exhales. It’s only his second run-through of an exam period, and he think he’ll need at least another ten experiences for this to feel like any other day of this job. His TA, a cheerful graduate student by the name of Sunny (how befitting), pats his shoulder sympathetically.

“I’ll grade the short answer questions ASAP,” she says. Mike raises his hand and gives her the _ok_ sign.

“If you’re too busy,” he says, speaking down towards the floor, “I can always take over the grading. I probably won’t be too busy over the Christmas break. Enjoy your holiday, Sunny.”

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s my job!” She gathers up the tests and bids Mike goodbye with a smile that Mike doesn’t see, head still planted on the desk. A few minutes after, Mike manages to pull together the will to peel his face off the surface and leave, stopping along the way to exchange holiday pleasantries with fellow professors. When he finally gets to his bike, he speeds through the streets of New York without looking back.

He has three weeks of glorious freedom, and he plans to use that time to become one with his couch. Maybe his bed. Probably both.

When he reaches home, Mike turns on his TV, orders a large pizza with cheese stuffed crust, and flops down on his couch. It takes him barely five minutes before he’s reaching for his phone and dialing a number he knows by heart – not by memory.

 

 

 

  
The firm, yet gentle knocks on his door send sparks through his nerves, and Mike opens the door with tingling fingers. Harvey’s standing on the other side of the threshold, looking wonderfully human in jeans and a fitted tee.

“You… didn’t have work today?”

“I left early,” Harvey says, shrugging a shoulder. “Perks of being a name partner.”

Mike steps aside to let Harvey in; as the man passes him, he catches a whiff of expensive cologne. The scent is all too familiar, too comforting, too reminiscent of what he once had. Swallowing, Mike closes the door.

“Please don’t tell me you got cheese stuffed crust,” Harvey remarks, eyes narrowing as he looks at the closed pizza box.

“Do you even know me?” Mike comments, walking over to the counter and flipping the box open. The thick crust winks back at him. He grins up at Harvey.

“Abomination,” Harvey mutters. Mike _tsks_ and tugs a slice free.

“Don’t hate on it if you’ve never even tried it,” Mike says, shoving the pizza slice into Harvey’s face, crust-side first. Harvey’s wary eyes don’t leave Mike’s face as he tentatively bites down into the dough and chews.

Mike watches the older man carefully, delighting in the look of wonderment that slowly spreads across his face.

“See?” Mike declares, smug. He brings the slice back towards him and takes a bite. “Heaven.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, but shamelessly picks up his own slice.

 

 

 

  
He ends up eating half of the pie, ignoring Mike’s knowing look the whole time.

Stomachs equally as stuffed as the crust, they sprawl across the couch, content.

“Why are you still in your work clothes?” Harvey asks, eyes sliding over to Mike.

“Was too lazy to change out of them when I got home,” Mike answers. “Didn’t register how uncomfortable I am until you mentioned it, honestly. Be right back.”

Mike disappears into his bedroom, and Harvey lets his gaze run all over the apartment. He notices the bottle of Macallan 18, the photo of him, Mike, and Donna that’s framed up and slotted in the far corner of the bookshelf, and a pile of Mike’s old name cards from Pearson Specter Litt that’s hidden amongst the clutter beneath the glass coffee table. Next to the name cards is a ring box. Harvey doesn't have to guess to know what’s in it.

When Mike re-enters the living room, he sees Harvey thumbing through his small collection of vinyl records.

“It’s almost like you sampled my collection,” Harvey says, not turning around.

“Maybe I did,” is Mike’s response. He leans against the wall and fiddles with the frayed hem of his shirt.

“Why?”

“I wanted to keep as much of home with me as I could,” Mike answers honestly. Harvey selects a vinyl and places it on the turntable, carefully adjusting the tonearm to the track he wants.

“Charles Bradley & Menahan Street Band,” Mike murmurs, as the first few notes reach his ears. “‘ _Where Do We Go From Here_ ’.”

At that, Harvey turns around. “Exactly. Where _do_ we go from here, Mike?”

Silence settles between the two of them.

“I – I want to come home, Harvey.” Mike looks almost disgusted with himself when he hears his own words, and something tears at Harvey’s usually steel-wrapped heart.

“But I know I can’t,” Mike continues. “For so many reasons.”

“What is it that you miss, Mike? The work? Practicing law?”

Mike mulls over the question.

“No, not the work. I could do without only having four hours of sleep every night. It’s not… having the title of a lawyer, either. I utilize my knowledge just fine at the university. It’s… you. And Donna. And Rachel; just as her, you know? Just as my friend. Jessica, too, even after everything I’ve put her through. I want all of you back. I want to go back to all of you.”

The song ends, and another one comes on, but neither of them notice.

“But I _can’t_ , because things cannot go back to normal. Because our lives, intersected, will never be normal.”

He falls silent, baby blues pointed down at the floor.

“Mike. I can’t speak for Rachel or Jessica, but Donna and I have never left you. You just have to tell us, give us a sign of confirmation, and we will be right there with you.”

“Who are you? What’d you do with Harvey?” Mike asks, looking suspiciously at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Harvey mutters, striding over to Mike’s kitchen and grabbing a couple of glasses. Mike watches him retrieve the bottle of Macallan 18, watches him pour out a finger into both glasses.

When Harvey meets his gaze, hand outstretched as he offers Mike one of the glasses, Mike makes a decision. He heads over, plucks the glass out of Harvey’s hand, and places it on the counter. When he does the same with Harvey’s glass, Harvey opens his mouth, question right on the tip of his tongue.

But the question vanishes into thin air when Mike wraps fingers around Harvey’s wrist, free hand reaching up to cradle the base of Harvey’s skull. Mike leans up, and presses the lightest and the most uncertain kiss to Harvey’s lips before stepping back.

“You changed my life, Harvey. You gave me something to live for, goals to attain. You accepted me just as I was, not caring about the baggage I brought along. You saw my potential, and bitched about it until I actually tried to nurture it. You were a hardass – still are, I’m sure–, but you cared so much for me, to the point where you were willing to risk everything you had to keep me safe. I admired Harvey Specter, the best damn closer in this city, but I love Harvey Specter, the man who loves me too.”

Mike dares to glance up at Harvey’s face from where he was pointedly staring at the hollow of Harvey’s throat, and the look in Harvey’s eyes nearly causes his heart to stop.

“You love me?”

  
Mike nods, full of surety.

“And I love you?”

Mike nods, slightly hesitant.

“You love me, and I love you.” A statement.

Mike nods, heart thumping in his throat.

“Okay,” Harvey says. Then he promptly crashes their lips together, foreheads knocking and noses getting squished in the process.

There’s absolutely no finesse to the kiss, just a lot of desperation and pent up need. Harvey’s the first one to gather his wits together, and he manages to bring down the intensity of the kiss by a few notches, settling for gentle licks into Mike’s mouth and letting the younger man tug on his bottom lip.

When they finally break apart for air, Harvey smooths Mike’s hair back and presses their foreheads together.

“You went to jail for me.”

“And I would do it again.”

“You do know that I’d go to jail for you, too?”

“I know.”

 

 

 

  
Mike scrapes his heel against the rough stone of his bedroom wall when Harvey shoves him up against it, hands fisting in his shirt as he mouths down the slope of Mike’s neck.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for too damn long,” Harvey mutters, sucking a bruise into the flesh just above Mike’s clavicle. “But I guess now’s a good time as any – at least Jessica can’t give me shit about ‘fraternizing with a colleague’ whenever she finds out about this. She’s not your boss anymore, and that means I can indulge myself without worrying about shit she’d do to you.”

“How would she find out?” Mike pants, ignoring the burn in his heel in favour of messing up Harvey’s impeccably styled hair.

“Because Donna will find out,” Harvey replies, hiking Mike’s shirt up. “And when Donna finds out…”

“Point taken.” Mike lets Harvey yank the shirt off his head. He sighs happily when Harvey runs large hands down his sides.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Harvey murmurs, lips against the shell of Mike’s ear.

Mike’s response is to shove Harvey towards the direction of the bed, planting a knee between Harvey’s legs when the latter’s ass finally lands on the mattress.

“Does it look like I don’t want to?”

“Point taken,” Harvey says, echoing Mike’s earlier statement. When Mike leans down, Harvey meets him halfway. As Harvey distracts Mike with a hot tongue down his throat, he starts exploring the lower half of Mike’s body, starting with the nice curve of his sweatpant-covered ass.

“Remind me to bring you back to René,” Harvey mutters against Mike’s lips, “the slacks you wear to work don’t flatter your ass enough.”

Snorting, Mike pulls away and rids Harvey of his shirt. He takes a moment to take in the feeling of Harvey’s bare skin against his fingertips, the faint bulge of biceps, the thin layer of fat around his middle that inevitably comes with age.

He drops another kiss on Harvey’s lips and gently nudges Harvey onto his back.

“Hey,” he begins. “Despite everything, I want to thank you for impulsively hiring me that day. It might not have been the best decision you made, but going along with your plan was definitely the best one I made. Well, second to going to jail, of course.”

Harvey looks at him with an unusually soft gaze.

“It’s the best decision I’ve made, Mike.”

 

 

 

  
“Holy fuck,” Harvey groans, hands on the curve of Mike’s hips as Mike continues riding him, thighs clamped down on either side of Harvey’s torso. “How the fuck do you move like that?”

“I’m surprisingly flexible,” Mike replies breathily, moaning as the tip of his dick drags against Harvey’s abdomen with every roll of his hips.

His rhythm is promptly thrown off-balance when Harvey’s grip on him tightens, and he starts to thrust up into Mike’s tightness. All of a sudden, Mike has no idea what to do with his hands.

“ _Oh fuck_ –” Harvey’s dick manages to brush against his prostate with every single goddamn thrust, and Mike’s so delirious with pleasure that his hands have lost all decorum. One second, they’re wrapped about his own leaking dick; another second, they’re splayed out on Harvey’s thighs for support.

“Mike,” Harvey grits, “put your hands on my chest.”

Too gone to feel embarrassed, Mike does as he’s told, and Harvey takes advantage of the more stable position to fuck deeper into him. He sneaks a hand between their bodies to rub his thumb over the slick head of Mike’s dick, and Mike lets out moan after moan – music to Harvey’s ears.

Harvey’s other hand travels down Mike’s back until his fingertips are brushing against the stretched rim of Mike’s entrance. He rubs at where they’re connected, gazes up at Mike’s flushed face, and feels his heart expand when he catches Mike looking right back at him. Those crystal blue eyes will be the death of him, Harvey thinks dazedly.

When Mike comes, it’s with a stutter of Harvey’s name, the digging of his nails into the flesh of Harvey’s shoulders, and an almost painful clench around Harvey’s dick.

“That’s it,” Harvey murmurs, hand still ghosting up and down over Mike’s twitching dick, coaxing the last of his come out of him. “Good boy, Mike.”

Mike shudders, and Harvey continues thrusting, almost lazily, until he climaxes.

“Shit,” Mike groans, the feeling of Harvey pulsing inside him too much for his over-sensitive nerves.

“Mike,” Harvey sighs, eyes squeezed shut throughout his orgasm. “ _Mike_.”

“I’m right here,” Mike says, words soft. Harvey circles his arms around the man on his chest and breathes.

 

 

 

  
“Harvey. Get in my office.”

“No,” Harvey says calmly, not looking up from his files. He's surprised it's taken a whole week for Jessica to find out.

He hears the sharp clicks of Jessica’s heels stop.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” he repeats. “I’m not going to your office. I know what you’re mad about, but you really can’t say or do anything to stop me.”

The heels retrace their steps, and Harvey finally looks up at Jessica. She’s looming over his desk, palms pressed against the glass.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? He nearly cost you your job, your licence to practice law, _this firm_ –”

“And he also turned himself in to prevent that from happening,” Harvey interrupts. “Because he cares about us. Including you, Jessica. Because of him, this is no longer a problem that we have to worry about. I know you care about this firm and your job more than anything else – and I get it, I was just like that – but he accepted to your stipulations, went to jail for you, _and_ he’s stayed away for over 2 years. So I think it’s high time for you to get over it.”

Jessica’s staring at him as if he’s grown a second head. Harvey sighs and leans back in his chair.

“I know that _you_ know Mike’s a good person.”

She doesn’t agree nor disagree, but her silence is a good enough answer.

“You haven’t seen him since his prison sentence, have you?”

Jessica shakes her head minutely.

“He’s a walking shell of the man he once was,” Harvey tells her, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Never thought I’d see that version of Mike. I’m equally responsible for this entire issue, and I want to make it right to him.”

“So you’re fucking him because you think it’ll bring the old Mike back?”

“No,” Harvey says slowly. “I’m fucking him because I love him, and because I love him, I want to bring the old Mike back.”

Jessica sighs and straightens.

“Please bring the old Harvey back as well,” she mutters, turning around and walking those heels back out of his office.

When Harvey glances over at Donna, she gives him a watery, dazzling smile, and places a manicured hand over her heart.

 

 

 

  
Donna leans comfortably against Harvey’s side as the both of them watch Mike mingle with the new pool of associates. It’s the firm’s Christmas gathering, and Mike is here as Harvey’s plus one. Jessica had even acknowledged Mike’s presence with a tiny nod.

“How long have you known?” Harvey asks, nursing his glass of whisky. “That I had feelings for –”

“Since you started referring to you and him as a unit,” Donna answers easily. “I’ve also known that you’ve been in denial about your feelings for almost as long. Mike was easier to figure out; he seemed – no, he clearly was – happier being with you than he ever was with Rachel. A part of her knew that too, I think. Her dad’s order was just the catalyst she needed to end their engagement and leave the firm. Watching the two of you dance around each other was probably one of most painful things I’ve had to do. Thank god that’s over with.”

Harvey chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. It burns pleasantly down his throat.

“You were so gutted when you found out about his resignation,” Donna says. “It hurt me to watch, you know. You lost so much – him, your spark, your edge, your passion. Even some weight. It hurt because I knew I couldn’t help. I wasn’t the one who could pull all that back into you. I knew who could, but I wasn’t able to get to him.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Harvey says, giving her arm a squeeze. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Donna.”

“Oh I know,” she says.

“Of course you do,” Harvey laughs. She smiles and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

 

 

 

  
“I missed this place,” Mike says.

They’re standing in Harvey’s office, and Mike’s running a finger along the spines of Harvey’s records.

“I missed you in this place,” Harvey replies, resting his weight on the edge of his desk.

Mike smiles wistfully, eyes still trained on Harvey’s record collection.

“I can drop by during lunchtimes on days I’m not teaching, if you’d like? Bring you some food? I think I can do that now, seeing as Jessica didn’t behead me the second she saw me.”

“Sure,” Harvey says. “Donna will love having you around again, and I wouldn’t mind seeing Louis freak out for a minute or two. Maybe I can tickle your genius mind in regards to a case or two. Totally off the record, of course.”

“Of course,” Mike says, the smile finally reaching his eyes. “I’d like that.”

Harvey gets up, walks over to Mike, and reaches out to cup his face.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for. I’m going to try my very best to do so.”

Mike nods. “Sounds like a plan. Do you know what you can do to start with?”

“What?”

“Take me to bed,” Mike says, a hint of playfulness lighting up in his eyes. “Or lose me forever.”

Harvey laughs, and Mike can’t resist leaning in to kiss it off his lips. Harvey’s thumb brushes tenderly across the pulse point on his neck, and Mike feels like he’s got the world at his feet.

“Show me the way home, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I haven't written fic for Suits in a long time, so please forgive me for any discrepancies.  
> 2) I just really wanted less-than-stoic!Harvey and sad-puppy!Mike ;;  
> 3) They're willing to go to jail for each other like what kind of OTP?  
> 4) Yes, they quote Top Gun at the end.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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